


Mysterium Conjunctionis

by jessebee



Series: Alchemy Trilogy [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, First Time, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-25
Updated: 2012-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-02 12:25:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessebee/pseuds/jessebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most interesting Christmas yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mysterium Conjunctionis

 

 

 

Every first time I have you in my mouth

I shudder in a place much further south.

_ Crucible _ _\- Daniel Bosch_

 

 

 

He came back to himself slowly, drifting up through layers of contentment. Warm, mostly, if a bit drafty on his left side. Something cozy and solid pressed against his right, blocking the cooler air. Comfortable, the surface beneath him soft but firm. Weight across his chest and legs, but not unpleasant. And he was quite tired, the agreeable lethargy that he associated with … with …

 

_Sex, Severus. Has it been that long?_

 

That got his eyes open.

 

It was his bed, his bedroom, his quarters at Hogwarts, that was his fireplace, definitely, with the Slytherin house crest carved tastefully into the corners of the mantle. All quite right and familiar. What was not familiar was the body plastered against and half over him. Or rather, it _was_ familiar, but not without clothes on. With clothes on, oh, he'd studied that body, yes, in sideways looks and when the other man's back was turned. Never admitting to anyone, least of all himself, that he was doing it. But here it was now, completely exposed to the firelight and his own gaze.

 

The leg thrown over his was lean and muscled, as was the arm across his chest. A wiry build, spare but powerful, well suited to a runner, perhaps. Or a Seeker. The head resting on his shoulder was topped with short dark hair, even messier than its norm. He was in bed, naked, and tangled with the equally naked long-shot miracle of the wizarding world.

 

Harry Potter.

 

In his bed. In his arms. 

 

A wave of emotion so strong it took his breath washed over him and his hold tightened involuntarily, just a little. Harry stirred and murmured something, and tried to move closer, as if he truly wanted to be where he was. Did he?

 

"Harry?" he whispered, unable still, after all this, to quite believe it; if this was going to end then it needed to end _now_ …

 

"Mmm." Harry's voice was soft and low and drowsy. "Sev'rus."

 

The wave broke apart into swells of feeling - softer, insidious and far more frightening. _Tenderness._ He turned his head to press his mouth against Harry's forehead, feeling the slight edge of the distinctive scar against his lips. _Perhaps, possibly, ridiculously, love._ The younger man's riotous hair tickled his nose, smelling of salt-sweat and open air and the heavy tang of sex. _And most dangerous of all … hope._ He squeezed his eyes shut against a sudden burning sensation. Those weren't tears threatening, no. Of course not. Ridiculous. He hadn't cried in years.

 

And he remembered.

 

## ## ##

 

Severus Snape charged up and around the last steps of the abandoned owlery tower's spiral staircase, his black robes snapping behind him like canvas on a schooner under full sail. Fury and apprehension vied for dominance in his chest, fueling his strength nearly as much as the Endurance Charm he'd cast on himself as he'd started upwards, cursing again the damnable necessity of the spells preventing Apparition anywhere on the Hogwarts grounds. This was _not_ how he'd wanted to spend the start of the Christmas holidays.

 

The old tower had a less than savory reputation, and Albus Dumbledore had long ago declared it off-limits and spelled the entire thing with a forgetting charm of sorts. It wasn't that students were unaware of the tower's existence, but rather that it didn't occur to them that they could go there.

 

Trust Harry-Bloody-Boy-Who-Lived-Potter to thumb his nose at that stricture as he'd done at most other Hogwarts rules.

 

Never mind that Potter hadn't been a Hogwarts student for over two years now, that he was in fact living in the castle as an assistant professor, helping to teach both Quidditch and Defense Against Dark Arts. At nineteen and a half Potter was old enough to teach neither, in Severus' opinion, but Hogwarts was the safest place for him as the fight continued against Voldemort.

 

No, indeed; when Harry Potter wanted a sulk, he would by Merlin find the oldest, coldest, most inaccessible, forbidden-for-a-reason spot in Hogwarts to do it in. Thereby forcing Severus to come up on foot after him, as the tower had no floo and numerous anti-flying spells wreathed around it as well.

 

He hit the top landing and yanked open the ancient wooden door, which protested with a shriek of corroded iron hinging. And stopped dead. _"Potter!"_ What was intended to be a shout came out instead a strangled whisper.

 

"Go away, Snape."

 

The object of his search was across the room, sitting not by, but actually _in_ the window opening, the muted green of his robes making a mossy splotch against the grey stone. The ledge was over a metre thick, true, and the tower had levitations spells upon it, as did all the high places in Hogwarts, but the sight of his former student so close to the edge still made Severus feel as though his heart had skipped a beat. "Potter, there is a good reason this tower is forbidden, not that you've ever cared a whit about good reasons! What the hell are you doing up here?" he hissed.

 

"It's called privacy, not that I'd expect you to respect the concept." Potter's voice was thick and gravelly. "Go. Away."

 

Severus took several slow steps into the room, studying the young man in the window. Potter was leaning against the edge of the opening, his head back and resting on the stone. His face was blotchy, and his eyes more red than was warranted for the enormous amount he'd evidently drunk the night before. Before he'd come down to the dungeons, and let himself into Severus' rooms, and fallen into bed with him, and offered Severus his deepest, most private desire. Without the slightest possibility of actually meaning what he was offering.

 

Worst of all, Harry had sworn, with all due drunken solemnity, to be in love with him.

 

Voldemort, at his most inventively evil, had never managed to be that cruel.

 

No, the cock-teasing little bastard had no doubt been pissed enough that he couldn't even remember what he had done, so mortification couldn't be the reason for this little sulk-fest, as satisfying as that would have been to Severus. So the reason must have been that particularly ugly report in the Daily Prophet this morning. Severus resisted the urge to sigh. Trust a Gryffindor to blame himself for what neither he nor anyone else could have prevented.

 

~~ ~~ ~~

 

_By Merlin's bloody blue balls, I am never going to drink again._

 

Harry Potter rested his aching head back against the cold stone of the tower window he was sitting in, wishing there was such a thing as a completely effective hangover remedy. Wishing he had the last twenty-four hours, during which he'd managed to make an utter balls-up of his life, back again.

 

Wishing that the man who'd just entered the room would go the hell away.

 

Saying that yesterday had been a royal bastard of a day didn't even begin to do it justice.

 

First off, he'd had a shouting match with Sirius. That his godfather had a temper and sometimes said things he didn't mean wasn't news to Harry by any stretch, but the words had stung deeply nonetheless.

 

Then a minor disagreement with Ron had turned, for no decent reason, into a major flaming row, which had ended with Ron storming out and Hermione following him, after an apologetic look at Harry. She thought they were both being idiots, she'd said as much, but nevertheless had chosen to follow Ron out to talk to _him_ , rather than Harry. And that had _hurt_ , in a very basic, selfish, childish sort of way that Harry hadn't been expecting.

 

Everything suddenly felt like it was falling apart around him. The people he had chosen as family seemed to be rejecting him, and the one person he wanted as family, as much more than family, he couldn't have.

 

So Harry had done something he'd never done before. Done the adult, mature thing to do in that kind of situation. He'd made a quick trip into Hogsmeade, gotten supplies, come back, locked himself in his quarters at Hogwarts, and proceeded to get three-sheets-to-the-wind, utterly, completely, blind drunk.

 

It was sometime after he'd lost track of the number of glasses he'd consumed that the thought struck him, presented in the crystalline clarity available only to the truly pissed: why _couldn't_ he have the man he wanted?

 

Severus Snape. Potions Professor, former Death Eater, double agent, sarcastic bastard, master of all things unpleasant and bane of the Hogwarts student population.

 

The man he was hopelessly in love with.

 

The man he had wanted to shag senseless ever since the middle of his seventh year, when Snape had given him a most priceless Christmas gift, a piece of Harry's own past.

 

No one would ever accuse Snape of being classically handsome; in fact, they probably wouldn't say he was attractive at all. Dark, usually lank hair, unfathomable eyes, hooked nose, sallow skin, sour disposition. No, handsome he was not. What he was, to Harry, was fascinating.

 

Razor-sharp mind and a tongue to match. Courage to match any Gryffindor to play the spy as he had, and the deep Slytherin cunning that had helped him survive it, and under it all the honor and honesty that drew Harry like iron to a magnet. Physical grace, ramrod-straight posture and a walk as silent as his House symbol, when he so chose. Long hands, elegant in motion, whether demonstrating a potions technique or writing on the board. When Harry had found himself waking up one night from a rather vivid dream of being Snape's quill, he'd known he was in trouble.

 

And then there was the man's voice. Such a contradiction it was: the tones were honey and velvet and silk; the words they delivered were most often a broomstick across the back of the knees.

 

Harry had been falling in lust, he'd later had to admit to himself, during the first half of his seventh year. It was after their Christmas trip, when Snape had unexpectedly revealed himself to be very, very human and as capable of love and loss and regret as any man, that Harry had begun to fall in love.

 

And so last night, in a fit of drunken logic, Harry had gone to tell him so. He had let himself into Snape's quarters, confronted the man, and declared himself.

 

And Snape had, in no uncertain terms, tossed him out.

 

Trying to breathe around what felt like a knife in his chest, Harry had somehow made it back to his rooms. Locked himself in again. And for the first time since his childhood, had cried himself to sleep.

 

Getting up this morning had been an ordeal that Harry almost hadn't attempted, except that he knew he had to meet with Albus and he did not want the Headmaster to come looking for him. And because he hadn't wanted to give Snape the satisfaction. The Potions master mercifully had not been at table when Harry had arrived for breakfast. But Harry hadn't been there ten minutes when the owl post had come in, and he'd seen the lurid report in the Daily Prophet of the carnage the night before.

 

The attack had come out of nowhere, death and destruction erupting in a tiny Cornish village, its only offense seemingly that of its name: Potters Hill. Two-thirds of the inhabitants were dead or missing, and the village itself had been burned to the ground. And in the sky above it all had glowed the Dark Mark, the survivors reported.

 

"Told them years ago, I did, I told them!" cried one anguished villager, an older gentleman who would not give this reporter his name. "Told the Town Council years ago to change the bloody name!"

 

That was the last straw.

 

No matter that Dumbledore's forces hadn't had a bit of warning. No matter that even if they had, there was precious little Harry or anyone else could have done to stop it. No matter that none of it was his fault.

 

His head and his heart still aching from the night before and now his stomach threatening to rebel, Harry had gotten up and all but bolted from the Great Hall. He had to get out. Somewhere he could be alone. Somewhere no one would think to look for him.

 

Except Albus Dumblefore, of course. There was no getting away from the damned man, not on Hogwarts grounds, anyway.

 

Harry liked to think that he'd learned a few things during the war with Voldemort, not a small number of which had been drilled into him by one Severus Snape. One of them was to never let his guard down completely, regardless of where he was or what condition he was in. He'd heard the footsteps on the stairs, had known by the tread that it had to be the Potions master before the man had shoved open the tower door, and had felt his heart sink lower, if that were possible. 

 

_Albus, you interfering old wanker, you …_

 

The thought was both rude and unkind, but then so was Albus' action, as far as Harry was concerned. He had no doubt that the Headmaster had insisted on Snape being the one to fetch him. Dumbledore seemed determined to throw them together as much as possible, a "kill or cure" treatment for their complicated, often contentious relationship. Their apparently mutual dislike. Dislike. Harry bit his lip against the urge to laugh, or sob. If only that were it.

 

Eyes closed, he waited for the ax to fall.

 

"Mr. Potter."

 

Harry winced. But the next words he heard were not what he was expecting.

 

"Contrary to your undeservedly inflated assessment of your own abilities, there was nothing you, or indeed I or any of the rest of the Headmaster's cadre, could have done last night. While it may have been guilt by association, this was an unpremeditated, random attack. There was, believe me, no summoning from Voldemort for this. Nor can you arrogantly assume any portion of blame or responsibility for what happened. The name of that village was purely unfortunate coincidence -- even _you_ cannot claim otherwise."

 

Laughter bubbled up and Harry clamped his teeth against it. He was pretty sure that if he started, he wouldn’t stop.

 

He had made the biggest fool of himself that he’d ever managed, broken what was left of his heart into pieces no spell could reassemble, and Snape thought all his upset was over the news report! Last night had meant nothing to the older wizard, obviously, if he couldn’t even be bothered to twit Harry about it. 

 

And that was wrong, suddenly, somehow. It was wrong that Snape could just, just _ignore_ that it had even happened. Harry knew he should just let it go and mourn the loss of his dreams in silence, but he couldn’t. Something in him, that seventh sense that he’d learned to trust, was telling him that for better or worse, it wasn’t over.

 

"I'm well aware that it wasn't my fault and that there wasn't a bloody thing I could have done, even had I known and been able to get there." Harry took a deep breath, hating the snuffly sort of edge his voice had taken on. "I am -- grieving a number of things this morning, thank you."

 

There was a sudden air of stillness in the room. Then Snape drew breath, and the light chuckle he made had absolutely nothing of mirth in it whatsoever. "Are you, now." 

 

Harry's heart lurched and sank still lower at the broad edge of condescending mockery in Snape's voice. "Then you do, in fact, remember your little escapade of last night. Yes, I suppose at your age and with your looks the discovery that you are not, in fact, sexually irresistable is indeed a cause for grief and mourning."

Harry's eyes popped open and his jaw dropped. Sexually -- what? Wait --

 

"It may disillusion you to know that you are by no means the first to take it upon themselves to be merciful and rescue the poor Potions Professor from his lonely, celibate existence in the dungeons. Although you are one of the very few to be bold, blundering, and crass enough to actually profess _love,"_ Snape spit out the word as if it tasted bad, "during the attempt."

 

"But that wasn't -- "

 

~~ ~~ ~~

 

Potter started to say something, wide-eyed and wide-mouthed. He was doing a marvelously convincing impression of the village idiot, but Severus, aching with a hurt he didn't care to put a name to, was in no mood to enjoy it.

 

" _Silence!_ Whatever it is you have to say, I do not wish to hear it. Whatever it is that you think I need, I do not care in the slightest. I am a senior professor of this institution, Potter, as well as an adult twice your age and I am more than capable of ordering my life, sexual and otherwise, as I choose. 

 

"And I do _not_ do mercy shags or casual sex, either one. _Particularly_ not with an idiot boy drunk enough to proposition any available warm body!" he finished, turning on his heel to head for the door, his own bitter frustration putting as sharp a snap to the words as he'd ever managed.

 

There was a choked sound behind him, then a low mutter of Latin. The rusty door bolt, with a squeal of protest, slammed into the locked position.

 

Disbelieving, Severus whirled back around to see Potter uncoil and slide out of the window to his feet with a Seeker's smooth grace, looking blazingly, beautifully angry. "You -- unmitigated -- _bastard._ " Potter's voice was a furious hiss. "Is that truly what you think of me?"

 

Severus stared.

 

"I don't do casual fucks either, Professor."

 

Severus wasn't sure if his impulse to shiver was due to the unexpected obscenity, or the awful sing-songy twist Potter gave to his title.

 

"Never since the first time, when I found out how much it could hurt. I have never, and I will never, approach anyone in whom I am not genuinely interested, drunk, sober or otherwise," Potter continued, his voice rising. _"I meant every word I said to you last night!"_

 

The last words were a shout, slapping across the stone chamber. Potter turned away, wincing, sucking in a breath, clearly reaching for control. Severus couldn't have moved if he'd tried.

 

"That you don't, _can't_ share my interest, you have made crystal clear. I am -- sorry -- that I offended you. It won't happen again. I've managed to work two years with you without throwing you across a desk, so you need not worry about any more untoward advances." The bitterness in Potter's tone was sharp enough to cut the stone they stood upon. "I'd ask you to forget it ever happened, but we both know what the chances of that are. So just go, and let me enjoy another hour or so of peaceful, solitary humiliation before I have to look at you again."

 

Merlin. Sweet Merlin. This wasn't happening. This couldn't possibly be happening, could it? Potter -- Harry -- hadn't just said that he …

 

That he … "Harry?"

 

~~ ~~ ~~

 

Harry felt himself twitch as that velvety voice spoke his given name for what was surely the last time. _Go. Please go._

 

There was movement behind him, but he couldn't turn, couldn't bear to watch Snape leave.

 

"Harry."

 

Oh.

 

Snape hadn't left, just the opposite because his voice was closer, the rich sound threatening to melt his bones even now. 

 

"You -- meant what you said. Last night." It didn't sound like a question and so Harry didn't try to answer. Not that he could have with his own voice locked up tight beneath the knot in his throat. _Please go._

 

Movement again behind him. Snape couldn't be more than a foot from him now. Harry could feel the other man's presence, his gaze, prickle along his skin like heat. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his fists. Oh God, he was dying here, bleeding out onto the granite beneath their feet.

 

_**Go** _ _, damn you. Why must you do this to me?_

 

"Harry."

 

It flashed through him like heat lightening, burning away his paralysis and sparking fury through him once again. "God **damn** you." Harry spun, feeling some furious magic itching up his spine --

 

And stopped, caught by the look in Snape's black eyes. By an expression he'd never seen before on that sharp face. By the long-fingered hands that grabbed his upper arms, slid up his shoulders, his neck. Cupped his face.

 

Snape leaned in and kissed him.

 

The world stopped, shifted, and resumed spinning at a new angle, and Harry wondered dazedly why he wasn't hearing the stones of the tower protesting the strain. Then there was nothing except Snape's, no, _Severus'_ mouth, Severus' hands, Severus' heat … Harry sobbed low in his throat and kissed him back, desperately, winding his arms around the other man to lock their bodies together. 

 

Severus broke the kiss abruptly, his chest expanding against Harry's as he breathed, and Harry took advantage of the sudden freedom to press his mouth to Severus' jaw. Long, vetiver-scented ebony hair tickled his cheekbone, the smell going, as it had since his seventh year, straight to his groin. Harry stifled a moan and continued his exploration, tasting. The skin hidden beneath the other man's high collars had tantalized and fascinated him for years now, and he was going to satisfy as much of his longing as he could before Severus came to his senses and pulled away …

 

But Severus wasn't pulling away. Long fingers slipped into his hair, cradling his head, encouraging Harry to stay right where he was. He brought up a hand to pull gently at the fabrics, both black and white, and was delighted when the collars turned out to be not as tight as they looked. He ran his tongue eagerly over the newly exposed skin. Severus made a low, throaty sound that vibrated against Harry's mouth. Had it come from anyone but his former Potions instructor, he might have called it a whimper.

 

"Harry, I …" Severus' voice was low and husky, and it sent a delicious shiver racing down Harry's spine to explode in his groin. Thank God Snape had never sounded like _that_ ever in class -- Harry knew he'd have melted into goo on the spot. "You don't … you can't really want this."

 

"Still so sure you know me that well, are you?" Harry muttered tartly, sliding his tongue across the indent below Severus' ear. He got the delight of his life to date when the older man actually shivered at the touch.

 

The fingers in his hair tightened a moment, then they unwound and slid down. Snape gripped his shoulders and pushed him back. Damn.

 

"Potter, we can't do this."

 

So, now he was Potter again? "Why the hell not?" Harry snapped, lust and apprehension sharpening his voice.

 

"Firstly, because we need to attend the meeting with Albus for which I was forced to come up here to retrieve your recalcitrant self!" Snape retorted, a gleam in his eyes that would once have had Harry backing off. But not now.

 

"And?"

 

"If you need the rest of the reasons spelled out for you, then you are more dense than even I had feared." Snape dropped his hands and stepped back. Harry caught the older man's arm as he turned away, expecting to be shaken off, and was encouraged when he was not.

 

"That's a dodge, Professor."

 

"That's the cold reality, Potter." Snape didn't look at him, his back straight and stiff. But still he made no motion to remove his arm from Harry's grip. Harry had learned a few things over the last years about the man's body language, and this posture gave him hope. It also annoyed the hell out of him, and he formulated his plan of attack quickly. 

 

"All right." Harry dropped his hand and moved past Snape, heading for the stairs, unlocking the door with a muttered word and a snap of his wand. "We'll go to this meeting and get it over with. And then I _will_ be seeing you, in private, and we _will_ talk." He paused by the door. "Because this is not over." He turned his head and met Snape's eyes. "Not by a long shot."

 

~~ ~~ ~~

 

Severus was button-holed by Poppy Pomfrey immediately after the meeting, and Professor Sprout after that, and he'd never been quite so close to actually being glad to be bothered by them. Pomfrey needed to consult with him on some new potions for possible inclusion in the school stores, and the diminutive Herbology instructor had some questions and suggestions on the list of needed plants that Severus had given her the week prior. Their taking up his time was only putting off the inevitable, he knew that, but nonetheless it gave him something else to concentrate on besides the coming confrontation with Potter. He knew better than to think that the younger man might give up waiting; Harry's determination to reach the ends he wanted was almost Slytherinesque at times, much as it pained Severus to admit it.

 

Thus, when he finally reached the sanctuary of his quarters much later that afternoon, after having also been waylaid by Minerva McGonagall and lastly by the two Slytherin students who had stayed over this year, wanting to wish him a Happy Christmas, of all things, Severus was not terribly surprised to find a fire warming and brightening his sitting room, and the table loaded with afternoon tea, sandwiches and biscuits. And Harry Potter ensconced in one of his chairs, warming his feet and reading. He was very much aggravated, of course, but not surprised.

 

"Rather disingenuous of you to spout off about your privacy when you clearly have no respect for anyone else's, wouldn't you say, Potter?"

 

Potter marked his place and laid the book gently aside. "Not at all. I rather thought you'd prefer this discussion happen in private, and -- "

 

"I'd prefer it not happen at all, as there is nothing to be said!"

 

" -- and since my sitting in the hall outside your door would surely cause people to talk, I decided to wait here. Tea?" Potter asked, reminding him somewhat eerily of Albus.

 

"Potter, kindly get the hell out of my rooms." Severus was angry, and tired. So very tired of doing the right thing, and pushing his own private, barely-acknowledged wants aside. It was far too cruel of Potter to do this to him, to tantalize and torture him with what could never be, even if the boy -- all right, the man -- didn't really understand what he was doing.

 

"Not until we settle this out."

 

"There is nothing to settle."

 

"Why did you kiss me?"

 

 _Momentary insanity,_ Severus thought, but didn't answer. He couldn't explain it to himself, never mind to Potter, without being more brutally honest than even he wanted to be. _So sorry, Potter, but you see your hated Potions master is right on the edge of pedophilia along with his myriad other crimes, as he's wanted you since your seventh year, when you stopped looking like a version of James with Lily's eyes and began to be just Harry, and only Harry._ On second thought, perhaps he should say it was momentary insanity. Potter might actually believe that.

 

"Severus?"

 

Severus held himself against the urge to shiver. He'd given Harry permission to use his name some time ago, after Harry had graduated, at Albus' request because the Headmaster wanted their working relationship "to be on a more equal footing." Another wretched idea. But Potter rarely used it, seeming to sense, with a perception that had surprised Severus, that it made Severus uncomfortable and clouded rather than cleared the air between them. He'd derived some moments of black amusement from imagining the look on Potter's face if he'd told the boy just _why_ it made him uncomfortable. _Because your voice slides down my spine and wraps itself around a part of my anatomy that hasn't been that interested in years …_ "It would be best for everyone if you forget that it ever happened."

 

"Forget?" There were sounds of movement behind him. "I couldn't forget that if I tried. And I don't want to." Potter's voice was husky, and closer. "I want to do it again."

 

"That would be a spectacularly bad idea, even for you."

 

"Why?"

 

All right then, damn him. Merlin knew, he'd tried to be reasonable about this, but reasonable never did make it through that bloody Gryffindor arrogance.

 

~~ ~~ ~~

 

"I am not interested in a short-term relationship with you, Potter."

 

"You're the one mentioning short-term, Severus, not me," Harry pointed out, carefully keeping his voice level.

 

"Potter, _open your eyes,_ " Severus hissed, whirling back around with fire in his eyes. "I am twice your age. I was your _father's_ classmate. There was little love lost between us and far less between your mutt of a godfather and I. You cannot tell me you are willing to put up with his disapproval, and that of every friend and hanger-on you have, to go about proudly with your old, bitter, nasty Potions teacher. Regardless of how brilliant the sex might turn out to be."

 

"And why can't I tell you that?" Harry stood his ground. "When I said that I wanted you I certainly didn't mean just for the sex, as spectacular as I'm sure it's going to be. Sex without emotion is just a physical release, and it's not worth it in the end. I've done that. It's not ever what I want."

 

"You're nineteen, Potter, you don't yet know what you want.”

 

"The hell I don't. Maybe having people trying to kill me on a regular basis has made me take stock of my life a little sooner than some. Yes, I find you physically attractive -- hell, if we'd only ever passed on the street I'd find you attractive -- "

 

"You need your eyes examined, then.”

 

" -- but I want you because I care for you, not the other way around.”

 

Severus looked away, waving one hand in a dismissive gesture. "Give it time, Harry," he said more quietly, sounding suddenly, achingly tired. "It will fade, and you'll be glad it did so. Find someone your own age."

 

"People my own age bore me to tears. Oh, don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade Ron or 'Mione for all the gold in Gringott's, but they're young, the way I don't think I've ever been. As for fading … " Harry moved in a bit closer. "It's only been growing stronger, and deeper, for two years now. It's not going away. _I'm_ not going away."

 

"Why me?" Severus turned back again to pin him with dark, intense eyes, and Harry shrugged, a little helplessly.

 

"How do you want me to answer that? I could say that it's because of your intelligence, your honesty. That you challenge me to see what is, not what I wish. Because you see _me_ , not the name they made for me, the fame I never wanted. Because you are the most … " Harry struggled for a word, " _worthy_ person I've ever met."

 

Both Severus' eyebrows shot up, an incredulous look coming over his face. "Worthy," he repeated, his voice flat.

 

Harry nodded. "I can't imagine what it cost you to play the game like you did, what you risked, what you dared. Nor can I tell you how much I respect you for that."

 

Severus snorted, an oddly inelegant sound for him, and turned away again. "Trust a Gryffindor to assign nobility to necessity. I did what was necessary."

 

"Which only proves my point, but we can argue that later," Harry replied. "I could say all of those things and they'd all be true, but … the heart wants where it wills. It's not a logical, reasonable thing."

 

"No, logic and reason are not qualities that I've noticed you having.”

 

"Then this whole thing should make perfect sense to you," Harry said, as serenely as he could manage.

 

~~ ~~ ~~

 

Severus turned to stare at his former student in disbelief, with the unsettling feeling that somewhere, somehow, he'd lost control of the conversation. The green eyes looking back at him were calm and steady, and far too old for their years. There was no trace of doubt within them. There was care and apprehension, yes; weariness, longing, and a desire that shook Severus to his core, but no doubt. They were the eyes of someone who had thought things through and come to a final, unshakable decision. 

 

Harry truly believed that he knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was Severus.

 

What in hell did he do now? How in Merlin's name was he supposed to fight this when everything in him, everything he _was_ ached to reach out and …

 

"Do you truly understand that your friends will never accept this?" Severus asked softly, and winced inside. He had given in, and he knew it. And by the look in Harry's eyes, the younger man sensed it as well. But the light Severus saw there was almost enough, by itself, to convince him that it might actually be worth it, in the end.

 

"Ron and Hermione have known for a good year now," Harry replied just as softly, and Severus flashed back to an overheard conversation on a bitterly cold balcony, almost exactly a year ago. _Sweet Merlin. The person Harry was mooning over … was me?_

 

"My other friends, if they are my friends," Harry was continuing, his voice steady, "will come around when they see that this is what I want, and what makes me happy. As for Sirius … " he looked away for a moment, and sighed. "He's my godfather, not my keeper, and I'm well past my majority in any case. I'll not love based on his or anyone else's approval. And as much as I would be ecstatic to shout about us from the battlements, I won't. If Voldemort and Company were to realize what a hostage you are for me, it would put you in worse danger still and I won't have that." The last words were said in a deadly grim tone and expression at such odds with Harry's youthful appearance that an actual breath of chill touched Severus' spine. Then they were gone, replaced with a sudden wry grin. "My life has been nothing but a long tangle since my parents died; I shouldn't think my love life would be much easier."

 

~~ ~~ ~~

 

Harry stepped still closer, drawn as if he was under a Summoning Charm. Feeling he was daring greatly and yet completely unable to stop himself, he laid one hand lightly on Severus' black wool-clad arm and slid it to the older man's shoulder, his neck, his face. Then he leaned in and touched his mouth to Severus'.

 

At first Severus was still, unresponsive in Harry's grasp. Then he made a soft, low sound and his lips parted, and Harry was inside. Kissing him. Kissing, touching, tasting him as he had that morning in the tower. It was a little awkward, a little uncomfortable where Severus' fingers were suddenly digging into his arms. Harry never wanted to stop.

 

Eventually he had to break for air, and leaned to rest his forehead against Severus', feeling the other man's hair brush teasingly against his face.

 

"Harry," Severus started. He sounded as breathless as Harry felt, which pleased Harry no end. "I am not, I have never been, a nice person, and shagging you will in no way change that."

 

"Good," Harry managed, a bit giddy and tingling all over, at least partially from hearing the word "shagging" come out of his austere ex-professor's mouth. "I don’t think my heart would survive the shock."

 

Severus pulled away a little and looked at Harry with narrowed eyes. Harry gave him a broad, bright grin in return.

 

"Obnoxious brat.”

 

"Annoying git.”

 

The only sounds for a few moments were the cheerful hiss of the fire and their slightly laboured breathing. Then Severus leaned in and kissed him again, hard and deep. Strong, elegant fingers went to work on the fastenings of Harry's robes, and there was no further need for words.

 

Severus unwrapped him in much the same way Harry had seen Hermione open her Christmas gifts: quickly and efficiently, with care and ill-hid eagerness, but with none of the disconcerting near-reverence that he'd so disliked in his few previous lovers. None of them had ever seemed to quite get over the fact that it was the Boy Who Lived whom they were touching. 

 

Of course, reverence had never been part of Severus' attitude toward him, had it?

 

They were in Severus' bedroom now, although Harry had no terribly clear picture of how they'd actually gotten there. Sprawled on his back in the surprisingly large bed, Harry watched through slightly glazed eyes as the older man stripped off the last of Harry's clothes, his jeans and underpants, in one go, leaving him completely exposed to Severus' intense gaze.

 

Naked. He was in bed, naked, with an equally naked Severus Snape. Finally. His former professor's stare suggested that Harry looked possibly good enough to eat. Part of Harry's anatomy twitched happily at the thought.

 

There was a huff of sound from the other occupant of the bed, and Harry focused enough to realize that Severus had seen that twitch. The realization made him twitch again.

 

The sound Severus made this time was perilously close to a snicker. "Well, Assistant Professor Potter. So eager, are you, then?" Severus sounded amused, and aroused, and a little as though he still didn't quite believe it all was happening.

 

Harry closed his eyes and shivered, feeling himself jump uncontrollably a third time. God, he could come just from _listening_ to the man. He looked up again and caught his breath, marveling at a fantasy made real. Severus had leaned in over him and they were so close, where he'd wanted to be for what felt like forever. He stared up into eyes that, as he'd suspected, weren't a true black but rather a brown so deep that it was the next thing to it, the rich color of old brandy, lit now with firelight and passion. 

 

Harry saw the teasing there and in the slight curve of Severus' normally severe mouth. The same face, and yet he looked so different from the stern taskmaster of Harry's student days. Harry reached up and fulfilled another fantasy, threading his fingers into the older man's long black hair. Thick, and coarser than his own unruly mop, but not at all greasy tonight; Severus must not have been in his lab at all that day. The scent of vetiver drifted down, once again going straight to Harry's groin. Tucking an inky lock back behind Severus' ear, Harry suddenly flashed back to the first words he'd ever heard the Potions master speak. 

 

_There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class…_

 

He managed to contain the snicker but there was no hope of stopping the silly grin that spread across his face. Severus tilted his head, an eyebrow tilting in inquiry. "Do you know," Harry said, his voice husky, "the first time I ever heard your voice was in Potions, that very first class. I was just remembering what you said … "

 

Harry saw Severus' brows draw closer together for a moment, saw his expression shift as he obviously remembered. Then, to Harry's complete shock and delight, he threw back his head and laughed, deep and full. His laughter was as rich and velvety as his speaking voice and Harry was instantly, hopelessly addicted. Someway, somehow, he'd get the Potions master to make that sound again.

 

Then Severus was looking back down at him, no longer laughing out loud but with humour still brightening his face and edging his voice with warmth. "You never could follow even the simplest instructions, could you?"

 

"Certainly I could. Sometimes I even did in Potions, just to see what it was like," Harry retorted, grinning. "But we're years out of class now, Professor Snape."

 

"Indeed we are, Assistant Professor Potter.”

 

Laughter slid sideways into something more urgent then as Severus leaned down and kissed him again, his hair falling to create a glossy black curtain around them both, brushing against Harry's face. Harry reached up and sank both hands into the shiny mass. The touch seemed to reach something in his bed-partner and the kiss turned more intense. Harry spared a moment to wonder if Severus didn't have a secret wish to have his hair played with. God knew Harry enjoyed the feel of another's hands on his own scalp. He made a mental note to test out that theory, but later. Sometime later.

 

Right now all of his attention zeroed in on the feeling of those elegant hands on his skin, sliding across his chest and down his stomach, picking out the edges of his ribs, finding the indent of his waist and the jut of his hipbone. Severus broke off the kiss and Harry thought about protesting, but decided against it when the other man's mouth began to follow the trail his hands had blazed. One of those hands was now stroking tantalizing circles on Harry's upper thigh, perilously close to where Harry wanted to be touched so badly he felt he might scream if it didn't happen very, very soon. .

 

Harry was so hard, so ready, that the brush of Severus' hair, the very whisper of his breath across Harry's groin was almost more than Harry could stand. He'd been ready for _years_ , it seemed; he'd so ached for this man that it had taken almost nothing to bring him to flashpoint. He was going to come the moment Severus touched him, he just knew it, and embarrass himself thoroughly. A cool finger brushed teasingly around his sac and Harry groaned, sinking his teeth hard into his lower lip.

 

"Harry?”

 

Oh God, that _voice_ …

 

"Harry.”

 

The caressing hand stilled. Harry pried his eyes open. Severus had levered up on one elbow, his expression somewhat concerned.

 

"You will tell me if I do anything you do not want.”

 

"No, please, don't stop, it's not that!" Harry managed. "It's just that, well -- " He flushed, and the word tumbled out in an embarrassed whisper. "I've wanted this, wanted _you_ , for so long, that I'm afraid the minute you touch me I'm going to come.”

 

Severus' lips parted in a soft 'o' of what looked very much like surprise. A new light kindled deep in his eyes, and his mouth curved in a tiny, very wicked smile that sent a brand-new shiver up Harry's spine.

 

"Then come," Severus said, and lowered his head.

 

Harry flung his arms out to the sides and clutched at the sheets in a desperate attempt to keep from grabbing at Severus' hair instead, somehow he didn't think the man would approve…

 

Severus took him, enveloped him in sweet warm wet suction and that was much, much more than he could stand.

 

Harry choked and thrust up helplessly, or tried to, against the pressure of Severus' hand across his hip, and came harder than he'd ever done in his life. His entire body flashed white-hot and liquefied, rushed downward and out in a release that went on forever…

 

Years later he came back to himself, gasping. Harry peeled his eyes open groggily to see Severus watching him with the most curious expression on his face.

 

Harry convinced his leaden arms to move until he could lay a hand on Severus' shoulder and urge him to where Harry could kiss him.

 

The meeting of mouths was tangy-sweet, salted with the edge of Harry's own pleasure. Severus kissed him deeply, his tongue forceful and tart, like the man himself. Severus' weight pressed him deliciously into the mattress as the older man explored his mouth thoroughly, and Harry felt the unrelieved tension in the long form pressed against him. He slid his hands down Severus' back, across his hip and between their bodies. The older man made a sound low in his throat and kissed Harry harder, then drew back to look down at him. "Harry, you don't need to -- "

 

"Let me touch you. Please?" Harry looked up into smoky eyes, reading hesitation. Why? Severus wanted him, the proof of that pressed hard and hot against his hip. Surely he still couldn't think that -- ? Harry slid his palm teasingly along Severus' length and the other man's eyes closed.

 

Harry wrapped both arms around the older man and rolled. Now Severus looked up at him, startled. Harry smiled. "Turnabout is fair play, after all."

 

"Yes, you _are_ a Gryffindor, aren't you?" Severus managed somehow to appear disgruntled and aroused at the same time, and Harry thought bemusedly that it was quite a good look on him.

 

~~ ~~ ~~

 

"Be rather to your advantage this time, won't it?" Harry gave him a smirk. Severus thought about snapping back. But the irritating brat had ducked his head and was licking at the hollow of Severus' throat, one Quidditch-roughened hand sliding down to play between his thighs, and speech was becoming problematic at best. He shifted restlessly under Harry's weight, biting his lower lip to keep from groaning, helpless against the onslaught of sensation and his body's reaction to it. Touching and tasting Harry had wound his own arousal to fever-pitch. What he was feeling now -- _Harry's_ mouth on his chest, his stomach, moving lower; _Harry's_ fingers caressing his sex -- was rapidly obliterating any remaining thought and setting his skin on fire.

 

When Harry licked into his navel, Severus did groan. When Harry took him into his mouth, Severus cried out.

 

Any earlier notions he'd had that he might be corrupting an innocent were proved wrong by the tongue now dancing around his aching flesh. If Harry had never done this before, then he was an terrifyingly fast learner with a hell of an imagination. Severus gripped Harry's shoulder with one hand and the sheets with the other and fought not to thrust. Merlin, it had been too long and he was too close, so close, so good …

 

The heavenly mouth was pulling off and he made a sound of protest at the loss, but it was replaced by a slick hand moving in the hard, tight rhythm he liked. He felt touch on his upper body and got his eyes back open in time to see Harry's head bend to his left nipple. Teeth nibbled and he writhed, gasping. Then there was a second hand slipping under his sac, and Harry's voice, passion-rough, in his ear.

 

"I had to taste you first, but I want to see your face when you come.”

 

The hand under his balls caressed, slipped back and pressed just exactly – _there_. Fingers digging into Harry's shoulder, Severus arched and came as hard as if he were a teenager once again. Somewhere through the ecstatic haze he thought he heard a voice murmuring.

 

"Beautiful … “

 

Eventually the world settled and Harry's face came back into focus, his eyes a soft, warm green in the charmed firelight. The younger man said nothing, only ran a fingertip lightly along the line of Severus' left eyebrow. The expression on Harry's face … Severus knew he needed to puzzle that out but he was tired and so very, very relaxed …

 

## ## ##

 

"Penny for them.”

 

Nudged out of his recollections, Severus blinked and focused to find Harry propped up on an elbow, looking down at him. He hadn't felt the younger man move. "Pardon?"

 

"Muggle expression. A Knut for your thoughts, I guess I should say.”

 

Ah. "I am familiar with the turn of phrase.”

 

"Thought you might be." Harry reached up and ran gentle fingers through Severus' hair, picking stray strands away from his face and combing the long locks out across the pillow. Severus' eyes half-closed and he found himself leaning ever so slightly into Harry's hand as it slid across his scalp. He was embarrassingly fond of having his hair played with, and it had been so long since he'd allowed anyone close enough to him to do so. And he'd hex Harry into next Sunday if the younger man said a word about it.

 

But Harry didn't, only continued the gentle, almost hypnotic motion with a look of curiously tender concentration, the same expression he'd worn earlier as he'd traced out Severus' eyebrows. It was an expression that Severus couldn't remember anyone ever directing at him before.

 

"Shall I up the offer to a Sickle, then?" Harry asked quietly some minutes later, breaking into Severus' delicious half-daze. It was almost an effort to answer.

 

"I am just recalling how we arrived…here." The daze evaporated as his earlier unease washed abruptly back, along with the urge to swear at Harry for making him verbalize it at all. How could Harry truly want this? And even if he did, it would not work. It could not work, anything that felt this good, this _right_ , was surely going to --

 

"Stop it." Harry's voice, though still soft, neatly derailed his train of thought, and Severus' eyes snapped completely open to look up at him. "You're lying there coming up with reasons why this won't work, aren't you? Don't waste your time. I'm not leaving."

 

Gods, it was almost frightening how badly he wanted to believe that. And when had Harry learned to read him so well? "We can none of us predict the future, Harry, despite what that quack Trelawney would have you believe."

 

Harry sighed. "I suppose there's nothing for it, then, but that I shall have to convince you.”

 

"And how do you propose to do that?”

 

Harry reached down to snag the bedclothes they had shoved aside, tugging the fabric up to cover them both. Then he settled back in along Severus' side and splayed one hand out across the older man's stomach, rubbing gently. Severus couldn't quite repress his shiver at the delicious slide of skin against skin, the sensation rippling through him to coil down around that section of his anatomy that refused to believe it was approaching forty. 

 

"By staying." Harry punctuated this simple, devastating phrase with a gentle kiss to his neck. Severus swallowed against the sudden thickness in his throat and closed his eyes, his arm tightening almost convulsively around Harry's back. Harry said nothing at this, though, only nuzzled his cheek against Severus' shoulder.

 

The clock on the mantel chimed, then played a quiet bit of melody. Severus felt the small motion against his skin as Harry smiled. "Happy Christmas, Severus." It was the voice of a man utterly content with his world, and Severus had to swallow again before he could answer.

 

"Happy Christmas, Harry.”

 

_ finis _

**Author's Note:**

> Story written February 2007. First posting/publication March 2012. This series came about due to my desire to give some characters a happy, or happier, ending than I suspected that the The Author would allow them.


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